They say that your destiny
Is at your feet, just waiting,
Waiting to be seized.
They say that you have
A great future, the many
Things that you will do.
But if you really think
About it, they all have a
Plan in their own minds:
A mold that they are
Preparing, you are the
Wax, waiting for any of
Them to shape you.
Wait just a minute!
I am the one that is
Supposed to have the
Destiny, but you don't
Care unless it fits into
Your scheme for me.
What happened to my
Ideas, my plans, my dreams?
What if I want no part
Of your manipulating schemes?
Time for a reality dose,
And, yes, reality bites,
Especially when your
Timid pet thinks for itself.
You can't hold reality captive
So, get out of your delusion.
When it's time, I'll do what
I want to do, not be busy
Filling your mold.
Molds break.
Paradigms shatter.
Stereotypes snap.
Puppets pull their own
Strings if you don't
Look away.
You only see
What you want to see,
So, you might as well get
Your eyes off me.
My dreams don't meet
Any of your grand schemes,
But, since I'm nice,
I'll give you a choice:
You can either support
Me, the real me, all
The way, or you can
Move off the tracks and
Get out of my way.
Whether you like it or
Not, this wax, this clay,
Has decided to mold itself.

Maybe there's no stopping it -
The anthem of the bored and lonely.
Muted melodies of drumming fingertips
And repetitive rhythms of eyes tracing
The same paths along cracked ceilings.

The same dregs in the *** for three days.
My phone battery's been dead for two.
We're all just looking for something.
And you can't find it in a ceiling.
But that doesn't stop us from looking.

You left two months ago.
There's no pretty way
There's no polite way
To say what you did.
With barely a word,
You
Packed
Your
Things
And
Left.
I healed. I recovered.
I moved on.
I haven't seen or heard
From you in two months.
I haven't really moved on.
Here I am, wide awake
At three in the morning.
Tell me this: if I've moved on,
Why are my lips begging to
Speak your name?

There will be a day when time itself is
Split in two: before today and after today.
But, for right now, I'm still stuck in this moment
Caught between the pendulum and
The impact. That irreversible moment when time was rent.

Lingering memories:
The phantom feelings
Of a time gone by.
Fingers struggling
To grasp what
No longer exists.
I can still feel
The same sensations
That I felt before,
But, when I
Open up my eyes,
It is gone.
And so my heart
Aches for what
Is no more.
How can I miss
Something so
Desperately
That I have
Never known?

Even exploding stars wear strings of pearls.

Clouds and smoke
and jets and me.
Not really here
But not really gone either.

Clouds high and transient.
They waft above us
As we stare back.
Too high for mortal man.

Smoke, the smoldering
Remains of what one was,
But is no more.
Now, it stretches for the
Sky in one last attempt
At elegance, now gone.
But, it has all passed
Beyond the recollection
Of mortal men,
Only a heartbeat after fading.

Like clouds, the jets
Are transient, constantly
Moving, but never recognized
As anything apart from
The crystals and their
Evidences, the ribbons
Of vapor left on the
Sky's carpet.

I am neither here nor there.
An ancient soul in a modern body.
The remnant of
A forgotten age,
Yet I still exist in the present,
Caught between what the
World is and what it once was.

-"What changed?"

-I did.

For you.
My dearest friend and my sweetest
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Star light, star bright,
There are no stars tonight.
But even in the darkness,
We can still find the light.

I write to make my voice heard
To put power behind every word.
Pen to page, things to say;
Change the world in a day.
I pick my fights with care
Jump walls like they aren't even there.
Pen to page, out of my way
Things to do, I cannot stay.

I write to run, I write to hide,
I write to fight the monsters inside.
Pen to page, I get away
But must again face the day.
Everyday a dangerous fight
Continues when I close my eyes at night.
Pen to page, my strength is new,
With just enough to get me through.

I write because it's what I'm told,
But words on a page is getting old.
Pen to page, what a chore!
Writing has always been a bore.
Words won't come; they never do.
This writer's block is nothing new.
Pen to page, just get it done,
A root canal would be more fun!

I write because I have to write,
An obsession with no end in sight.
Pen to page, words in my head
Remain unspoken, must be said.
A jumble of words begging to come out.
The power of some whisper, others shout.
Pen to page, words on a page
Stay strong and defy the age.